


All Your Art of War

by musicforswimming



Category: Sharpe - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Historical, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-02
Updated: 2005-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:44:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicforswimming/pseuds/musicforswimming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why don't you stay?" he asks her, one morning, before the sun rises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Your Art of War

> You must not fight too often with one enemy, or you will teach him all your art of war.  
> -Napoleon Bonaparte

"Why don't you stay?" he asks one morning, before the sun rises.

She does not like to stay. She does not like to see the sun rise, to leave in the morning light. She especially does not like to be the second to wake up in the morning. It makes some silly part of her angry, when she wakes up to find Richard awake already, smiling, just a little, as he looks at her.

He doesn't like that she doesn't like to linger. That gratifies her, in some odd way. He is one more arrogant, pig-headed Englishman, and she may be in love with him, but that does not oblige her to make him happy.

But if he grumbles about it, if he's really angry about it, he never says so to her. And that makes that part of her even angrier. _Does he think so little of me?_ she would ask, if there were anyone to talk of these things with. _Does he have so little regard for me, that I am not worth fighting with?_

She is teased when she returns from visiting him. By some, anyway; from others, there are cold looks; it's little better than if he were French, for one invader is not much better than another.

She ignores the teasing and the cold looks both. She has better things to worry about.

"Why don't you stay?" he asks one morning, and she pauses in pulling on her boots. She thought he was asleep.

"I thought you were asleep," she says. Not an answer.

"'S not an answer," Richard says, sitting up.

"I have work to do." She does not go back to him, but she turns, and looks at him calmly.

He smiles sleepily. "So've I," he says, shrugging.

Teresa snorts. "You are a lazy Englishman," she says easily, standing and turning to go. "It will be light soon. I have work to do," she repeats.

She does not know what she is waiting for him to say. To argue, maybe. Or to tell her that it can wait. To make her angry, to make it easier for her to leave his tent. She is waiting for something, and she doesn't know what it is, but when he speaks again, softly, she knows that it's not what she expected.

"I'd like it if you stayed a little longer."

Teresa cannot move then, but she doesn't turn to stare at him, because she knows that her face will give everything away. And since she doesn't know exactly what she's feeling herself, he would know her better than she does, and that is an idea that she is not at all comfortable with.

She takes a deep breath, and finally turns around. Smiles, just a little bit. "So would I," she says.

Goes back to him, kisses him. Long, soft, slow, and as Richard's arms reach up and go around her waist, she pulls away, and smiles a little, again.

"But I have work to do."


End file.
